


Graveyard dirt and black cat's bones

by CatsGirlsComicsAndThisOddball



Series: Submissions to Soullessbrothers [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, Boyking Sam, Crossroads, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Demon Blood Addiction, Demon Castiel, Demon Dean, M/M, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 13:49:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5293490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatsGirlsComicsAndThisOddball/pseuds/CatsGirlsComicsAndThisOddball
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They never find a cure for the mark. Sam never should have left Cas to his own devices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soullessbrothers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soullessbrothers/gifts).



Yarrow flowers.

The sun leaves a bloody trail on the western sky, far-away mountains of clouds illuminated in vibrant colours. Above Castiel, dark purple turns to blue-black. Out here, there is no light pollution, only stars and air and earth. Small insects chirp in the grass, the smell of hay dominates the breeze, and the Crossroad is dusty under his feet.

Once more, the fallen angel marvels at the beauty of creation, praises his father for the last time.

“Heya Cas.”

“Hello Dean.” Castiel turns, eyes wide. “I had not expected to meet you here.”

Dean smirks, hands in the pockets of his jacket, and ambles a few steps closer, looks Castiel up and down.

“All outta grace, huh? You know, even I can’t give you back your wings.”

“I don’t want wings.” Castiel says calmly. “I want to sell my soul.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s kind of a given here, Cas. Question that matters is what for?”

“You.”

Dean’s laughter is harsh, but Castiel has heard worse.

“Cas, you know I can’t be cured. You didn’t find a way because there isn’t one. Believe me, I checked.”

“I know.” Castiel swallows and takes another step closer. “I want you to be free to make your own decisions.”

“Oh, I am.” Dean smiles cockily. “Crowley’s got nothing on me. I do him favours to pass the time, but don’t think for one second that I take orders from that son of a bitch.”

“Then why did you not come back?”

Castiel lets all of his confusion and longing show. It’s wrong to display weakness in front of a demon, but this is _Dean_.

“Cause I’m not exactly keen on getting tied up and poked for nothing. You really think Sam would want me around like that?”

“Your brother is tearing himself apart without you.” Castiel says bluntly.

“That so.” Dean crooks his head and smiles wistfully.

“You’re an assbutt.” Castiel informs him with narrowed eyes. “And if Sam keeps on like that, he’ll be dead within the year.”

“Hmm. You think he’s gonna end up in heaven?” Dean asks contemplatively.

Castiel punches him in the face. His hand hurts, but that doesn’t keep him from grabbing the grinning demon’s collar.

“You can play pretend with Crowley, with all the other scum in the pit, but not with me, Dean Winchester.” There’s a trace of angel in his voice, in his glare. “I know you, I held the entirety of you in my hands, and there is no thing in heaven, earth or hell that could make you indifferent about Sam!”

“Ya think so Cas? That why you’re here?” Dean’s voice is soft as velvet. “You gonna sell your soul for the standard ten years and spend them doe-eyed for happy crappy hunter family?”

Castiel only looks at him, and Dean whistles lowly.

“Son of a bitch. You would.”

He chuckles when Castiel lets go of him and turns away, suppressing a tremble in his hands.

“There nothing that you want? Something for yourself?” Dean wants to know.

“Nothing that can be granted by a crossroad’s deal.”

“I ain’t no crossroads demon, sugar.” Dean drawls.

“No.”

“Your soul in the pit, just so I can return and have Sam angst over me? Really, Cas?”

“It’s better than what it’s like now.”

“Jesus, you idiot. You know better than I what eternity means. Eternity in hell, angel.”

Castiel turns, cool and calm. “I’m aware.”

“And?”

“I went to hell to retrieve both you and Sam. I don’t mind staying there for you.”

There’s something other than smug self-assurance on Dean’s face for the first time, and Castiel adds:

“At least it’d be close to you.”

Dean is silent, and Castiel counts that as a small victory for himself.

Insects chirp, the last trace of red dies, soft summer-night wind caresses them. To Castiel, the most beautiful thing is the demon in front of him.

“You could have us both.” Dean says softly.

“I only want what’s freely given.”

“Well then.”

Dean smiles, and for the first time lets his eyes turn black.

“Here’s the deal. I get your soul right now. You get me in return.”

He gestures lazily towards himself.

“I’m Cain. I can make new knights of hell, and you’re gonna be the first.”

He steps so close to Castiel that their breaths mingle.

“And then we go and talk to Sammy. He’s gonna need convincing, but you know he’s gonna come through if it’s both of us.”

Castiel only hesitates a second. Wrong, evil, immoral, all those words lose their meaning when it comes to the three of them. For Sam and Dean, there’s nothing Castiel would not do.

“Yes.”

He presses his lips to Dean’s. Sulphur, whiskey, heather, Dean.

Blackness, fire, screams. Dean’s arm around him.

“Welcome to hell.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Yarrow flowers.

Sky hangs low above the crossroad, grey-beige constipated rain. The colour is almost as ugly as Castiel’s dirty car, parked in the shrubbery half a mile down the dirt road. Dust and gravel crunch, dry and mealy in Sam’s sweaty palms, between his fingers, under his nails. Not deep, he hits tin.

“Fuck, Cas. No.”

Too late, stupid, stupid, of course Cas would, shit, what did he do-

“Looking for someone?”

Sam whirls onto his feet, knife drawn. Crowley tuts.

“Now, moose, no need for that look.”

“Where is Cas?”

Crowley lifts an eyebrow.

“Would you believe me if I said that I haven’t the faintest?”

“What have you done to him? And where is my brother’s body?!”

Sam advances, despite odds and better knowledge. Cold rage sings songs of murder in his blood at the thought of Dean and Cas at the mercy of Crowley.

“Ah, still in denial I see. Pity I need you alert.”

Crowley’s smirk hardens and one mask drops.

“Your brother is a demon Sam, it’s past time you accept that. And now our little angel has given him his soul.”

No. No, god, please, not Cas too, no this can’t-

“Postpone the weeping and the self-loathing, moose. What are you going to do about it?”

“What?”

Crowley rolls his eyes heavenward, like that has any justification, and sighs.

“I mean, what are you going to do about your rampant Knight-of-hell-brother and his first mate? Pun sadly intended.”

“What- wait, Cas is…”

“Oh, did I forget to mention that? The newest Knight of Hell is a fallen Angel.”

_Oh god._

A breeze brushes between Crowley and Sam. Sam swallows dry, breathes, thinks. And finds his calm.

“Why are you telling me?”

“Take a guess.”

Either it’s the truth, and Crowley has trouble with Dean. Or Crowley lies, to manipulate Sam into doing something stupid. Possibly, it’s both.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to put them on the naughty step before they upset the playground where I’m king. I like my playground. It took a long time to organize.”

Sam doesn’t bother to hide his contempt, and Crowley doesn’t expect him to.

“Call me if you need assistance.”

“Get lost.”

“Touchy moose. Oh, and tell Dean I want my friendship bracelet back.”


	3. Chapter 3

Yarrow flowers.

The potpourri of dead plants in the bowl on the comforter fills the whole little room with a strange, stale pollen smell. The bed and breakfast with cross-stitched kitten pictures and old spinning wheels in cobwebbed corners is the farthest thing from Super 8 that Sam could find on short notice. His cellphone rings.

_“Sam? Are you there?”_

“Hey Cas. Where are you?”

_“Montana, at the moment. I tried to reach you. I have a lead on Dean.”_

“Really? That’s good.”

Sam permits himself the hand in his hair. Nobody sees him here, only his haggard reflection in the vanity mirror.

_“Where are you? I can come and get you.”_

“Yeah? You left your car at the crossroad, you know.”

There’s a long silence.

_“Sam…”_

Ice runs down his back. If there had been an explanation, any other explanation, Cas would have given it by now.

“Is he listening right now?”

Sam can’t allow his voice to waver, can’t show weakness.

_“Heya Sammy. Nice talking to you.”_

“Dean.”

_“The one and only.”_

Breathe. Calm. Think.

“I can help you.”

_“Sure. Let’s talk about it face to face.”_

“Alright. Come to the bunker alone and put on the handcuffs, and we can talk.”

_“I don’t think so, little brother. Why don’t you drop the charms and join us for a beer?”_

Sam’s jaw clenches as he glares at his reflection.

“No.”

_“Aw, come on. Cas traded for happy family. Can’t do that without you.”_

“Why, Cas?”

_“It is the only way, Sam. And you know it, too.”_

“There’s always another way.”

_“Maybe we’re happy like this. What do you say, Cas, are you happy?”_

Another long silence, then Cas says:

_“Yes. And I will be happier when you join us, Sam.”_

“I’m gonna save you. I swear to you, I’ll get you both back.”

Sam breathes the words from his soul.

_“Is that a challenge, Sammy?”_

Dean’s mocking tone is all big brother, no demon, and suddenly Sam’s throat is too tight to swallow.

“Don’t call me again.”

With a soft noise, the connection ends.


	4. Chapter 4

Yarrow flowers.

Sam scowls at the weeds that grow through the cracks and around the parking lot. The pub is seedy, the lights in the windows low and dim with smoke. Inside, there are measured glances and shuffles, but no eyes linger. Plaid, torn jeans, clenched jaw, Sam’s bulk is not worth the fifty bucks to his name.

“Jack.”

The bartender is quick, and doesn’t argue when Sam says:

“Leave the bottle.”

Stuff tastes disgusting, bitter. It’s been months since Sam has been able to sleep without.

“You shouldn’t sit with your back to the room like that.”

Castiel says calmly and takes the stool next to Sam.

Sam doesn’t look at him, but he gestures to the bartender.

“Two more glasses.”

The bottle is half empty by the time Sam has filled all three tumblers.

“Thanks, Sammy.”

Dean grins and chugs his in one go, smacks his lips. Sam looks deep into his own glass, through the bottom, at the magnified, golden tinted, sticky top of the bar.

“So, what gives? Tired of hide and seek, or did’cha run out of hex bags?”

“Dean and I missed you.”

Castiel’s voice is low and earnest, so truthful it aches.

“Yeah. I missed you too.”

Almost not quick enough, Sam turns, nails Dean’s wrist and cuffs it. Cas moves the same instant, but Sam ducks the hit, and has Dean in a headlock the next second.

The entire bar has fallen silent, all eyes on them.

“Is this really necessary?”

Cas asks, long-suffering blue eyes calm. He still has his trench-coat, his shirt’s clean and his tie loose but stylish. With his hair in complete disarray and stubble shading his face, he looks almost exactly like the nerdy little angel that fell from heaven straight into the Winchesters’ lives.

Dean chuckles, even with Sam’s forearm pressed into his throat, and Sam’s jaw clenches.

“Are you gonna cooperate?”

“Sure Sammy.”

Dean’s elbow hits Sam’s stomach, and Sam is flipped. He reaches for his knife instinctively, but Cas’ hand catches his arm, pulls, and Dean’s arm reaches around him, under his belt-

“No!”

Someone pulls Cas off Sam, but it’s too late, Dean has the key, shoves Sam away-

“Tattling on us, Sammy? Now that’s just not fair.”

Dean growls, and his eyes flash black as he comes to stand back to back with Cas to face the demons surrounding them. Sam breathes fast as he comes to his feet.

“Had to try and even the odds at least, didn’t I?” Crowley drawls. “Moose, your plan didn’t work.”

“You didn’t do your part.”

“And you didn’t do yours.”

“Step away from my brother, Crowley.”

Dean glares, his shoulders tense, and for a second, Sam’s instincts go reverse, because Dean only looks like that if there’s danger, and then Crowley has an angel blade on his throat.

“Ah-ah. Sorry, no can do. You see, you and the angel are a disaster, but manageable.”

The blade cuts into the skin of Sam’s neck and he leans back, and Crowley’s hand clamps on him like steel.

“But before the terrible duo becomes a trio, I’d rather have moose safe up in heaven, where all the good boys go.”

Sam ducks and twists, and sharp pain shoots through his shoulder.

“Sam!”

All hell breaks loose, literally, as Sam tries to wrestle the blade in his shoulder from Crowley’s grip. Another demon comes at him, yells, stills in shock and then combusts from within. And then Dean is suddenly there, right beside him, eyes pitch black and the first blade dark, wet red. Crowley is gone the next instant, but not without yanking the angel blade down and out.

Sam’s knees hit the floor, dizzy with pain and sudden blood loss, but he’s got just enough left to witness Cas with two angel blades, slicing through the demons like a cat through a swarm of lame canaries. Dean is behind Sam, his hand firm on Sam’s shoulder as he presses down on the wound. Sam’s balance gives out just as Cas comes to stand in the middle of the chaos of splintered furniture and bled-out bodies, and looks at them. Splattered in blood, eyes like a nightmare, Castiel doesn’t need wings.

“Gorgeous, isn’t he?”

Sam falls backwards and Dean chuckles, catches him.

“And all ours, Sammy.”

Hands searching, Sam twitches for a knife, the cuffs, anything, but it’s all lost.

“Don’t be afraid, Sam.”

The fallen angel comes to stand in front of him, lowers himself kindly as he cups Sam’s jaw.

“Of all beings in creation, you are the only one who does not have to fear us.”

“Lemme go.”

Sam gets the words out, barely, hungry darkness at the edge of his view.

“No. You know you belong to us.”

“Don’t worry, Sammy.”

Dean lifts him effortlessly. He smells like sulphur and heather and something else. It’s all mixed with the scent of Sam’s own blood, warm and sticky on his chest, arms, stomach, red.

“Gonna take care of you.”


	5. Chapter 5

Yarrow flowers.

What?

They smell, faintly, floral. Sam’s nose scrunches as his eyes clear, and focus on the flower arrangement on the table.

Fancy table. Fancy flowers. Fancy room, he realizes, arches his neck and flinches at the pain in his shoulder. Flinches, and freezes when his wrists don’t move, bound to the side of the bed instead of above his head, but bound nonetheless. In a way that doesn’t strain his wound.

“Dean?”

“Here, Sammy.”

He steps into view and sits down on the side of the bed with a smile, like everything’s fine. His eyes are green and golden, beautiful, and his expression is so full of care, love-

“Stop playing with me.”

Dean’s lips pull into a smirk and for half a heartbeat, his eyes are pure black.

“You sure? Been playing an awful lotta games with us lately, Sammy. Hide and Seek, Catch, Hard to get…”

Sam squirms, tries to move away, and a hand catches his unhurt shoulder and pushes him down.

“Lie still.”

Cas’ order is calm but stern, and then he has his hand under Sam’s neck, lifts his head to press an open bottle of water against Sam’s lips.

“Drink.”

Sam wants to argue, but reflexively opens his mouth wider, and the cool, sweet liquid soothes his tongue and throat. Cas takes the half-empty bottle away, but his hand remains, caresses Sam’s cheek, thumb on his cheekbone in reverence.

“What are you doing?”

Sam whispers, desperate and confused.

“You know that demons are capable of love, Sam.” Cas reprimands. “Is this really a question you need to ask?”

“If you love me, let me go.”

“Yeah no, sorry that.”

Dean’s drawl is molasses sweet and vicious, but his eyes are dead serious.

“If we let you go, Crowley’s gonna kill you at the first chance you give him.”

“Not gonna give him a chance.”

“You mean you won’t give him a second chance.” Cas says. “You already proved your recklessness.”

“Cas, please. You tried to sell your soul to save Dean. You can’t condone this!”

“I sold my soul to be with Dean. And I received my due and more.”

Sam can’t help the sharp intake of breath as he realizes what Cas means.

“All those years…”

“And all it took was a little black smoke.”

Dean winks, and catches Cas’ eyes, and Sam’s heart skips a beat. It’s still there, between the two of them, that intangible thing, so inherently Dean and Cas…

Dean moves unhurried and relaxed, and Cas leans in, easy, confident, well-practiced. They kiss over Sam’s chest, slow and just a bit lascivious, showing off and enjoying it.

All those years, and _now_ they finally got it…

They break apart and look at Sam simultaneously, and it’s only then that Sam realizes he’s tense all over, lip bit bloody to keep it from trembling.

“Aw, Sammy.”

There’s something else in Dean’s voice now, under the mocking and the sneer, something warmer, almost. Almost caring. He leans down and places a soft kiss on Sam’s cheek, and Sam breaks.

“Please. Please let me cure you. We have no cure for the mark, but I can turn both of you back human, Dean, please-”

“And let you finish the trial?”

Cas glares and Sam freezes, but then nods, because yeah. Yeah, worth it, if Dean and Cas get to live.

“You didn’t think of that.”

Head tilted, Cas’ observance is too familiar not to hurt. Dean’s voice is sharp and unforgiving.

“Nope. Not even you have enough blood for two Knights of Hell, and you don’t get to skip on us.”

“You’re demons.”

Sam begs, hates the waver of his voice, the loss of control.

“Please, let me help you.”

“We don’t need help. We’re good.”

“No you’re not.”

Dean laughs.

“Yeah, alright, so we’re not good. Can’t say I feel too bad about that, though. Cas?”

“I chose you.”

Cas points it out, like that is answer to all questions that could possibly be asked.

“I won’t give you my soul.”

“You can’t give us something that we already own, Sam.”

Cas' words hit the mark without any effort on his part. Sam flinches.

“What do you want with me?”

“Now you’re asking the interesting questions.” Dean grins. “You know, I did some research about good old Yellow Eyes. Turns out, Azazel was a fallen angel turned demon.”

All of Sam’s blood turns to ice at once. No. But Dean just chuckles and continues to talk.

“Now, Cas and I’ve been thinking. If we get to spend eternity in hell, we might as well take charge of the sandbox.”

“No. Dean, no, you can’t want to…”

“What was it they called you? Azazel’s Boyking.”

Dean crooks his head and smirks.

“Sam Winchester, Boyking of Hell.”

“It has a certain ring to it.”

Cas agrees.

“Cas, not you too. You can’t be thinking this-”

Sam’s eyes widen as Castiel calmly takes out a blade, cuts his wrist and offers it to Sam.

And God, after years, years of discipline and control, Sam still remembers the high, rush of power, and it’s all there in Cas’ tangy blood, rich crimson that smells like fire and rust, hot like all things delicious.

Sam turns his head, against the strain of his own muscles, and Dean chuckles.

“You always were too stubborn for your own good Sammy.”

Eyes clenched shut, Sam shivers, throat too dry, and his entire body screams at him to lunge at Cas and _suck him dry_.

“Please. Please let me go.”

“Dean and I need you.”

Castiel’s voice is serious, reasonable. A drop of blood falls from his wrist on Sam’s chest, Sam feels it hit the fabric, seep through, touch his skin.

“We are soldiers. And I cannot think of anyone I’d rather serve than you, Sam Winchester.”

“No, I can’t, you-”

Dean’s hands cup his face, and then Dean kisses him, and Sam’s eyes fly open the moment their lips touch. He makes a noise, not-quite-moan, and his mouth opens without permission, and Dean licks inside, fills his senses, and there is blood on his brother’s tongue, blood and whiskey and a trace of sulphur.

Sam follows Dean, clings to his lips as he pulls back.

“Never losing you again, Sammy.”

Sam breathes fast and feels like he’s tearing apart inside, and then Cas meets his eyes.

“Sam. Please.”

His lips are loose and pliant as Cas presses his wrist against them. Should demon skin be so warm? Ruby was always cool, but Cas’ blood runs hot into Sam’s mouth, liquid, blissful flame, and he notices Dean moving, but it’s nothing against the taste, and Sam curls his tongue, licks, greedy, catches Cas’ smile, approval and something else as darkness eats the blue in his eyes. Then Dean releases his bindings, and Sam’s hands surge to Cas’ arm and pull it off.

He sits up and his whole body vibrates, and it’s all back, power thrumming under his skin, all senses on overload. Cas is stronger than anyone he ever drank.

“Feeling alright?”

Dean asks, and Sam follows his glance to his shoulder, which doesn’t hurt anymore.

“Let me.”

Cas pulls his hand out of Sam’s grip and lifts Sam’s shirt, and raising his arms doesn’t hurt either.

“All better.”

Dean smirks his approval at the pink scar, star shaped on Sam’s skin. Then he leans in, without hesitation, and kisses Sam again, and _fuck_ , it’s been so long. Cas pushes both of them down onto the bed, and absent-mindedly, Sam thinks that this has been a long time coming. He knew this would happen, from the moment they caught him, and he’s strangely okay with it.

When Cas kisses him, too, and Dean undoes Sam’s belt, and Cas growls:

“You taste like sin.”

Sam knows what he wants.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Yarrow flowers.

The king twists the stem in his long fingers, muses over the myriad of white blossoms, star shaped and tiny. His eyes are dark golden, his smile is the whole world. The whole terrifying, beautiful, merciless world.

Dean kneels before the throne.

“My king.”

“Dean. Rise.”

Sam says and rolls his eyes. Dean grins and does as he’s told, and Sam looks up, almost amused. It’s three steps up to the throne, and Dean stands behind it, where he has a view of the whole room. It’s a crypt, tall, dark gothic, with fire in the walls and screams that echo from what happens beyond them.

The doors open, and Castiel enters. He drags a demon by its neck, and doesn’t even register the struggles of his prey. The demon is dropped before the throne and cowers, as it should.

“I found the perpetrator, my King.”

“Well done.”

Sam smiles at Castiel. The expression is not returned, and it doesn’t need to be.

“Your majesty, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I only sought to please you rghth-”

It wisely decides to stop talking when Castiel’s foot crushes its windpipe.

“You made deals with children. I made the rules very clear.”

Under Sam’s cool eyes, the demon screams, and then smokes out and burns like steel wool that caught a spark.

“Come here, Castiel.”

The meatsuit lies unconscious and wheezing, and Dean gestures for the guards at the door to take care of it. Cas, head bowed, falls to his knees right between Sam’s spread thighs. The yarrow stem drops as Sam’s fingers card through Cas’ dark hair.

“What would you like for your reward, Castiel?”

“Serving you is all I want.”

Sam chuckles, and Dean can’t help his smile. Blunt, but Cas always knows just what to say.

“There’s nothing you’d desire? I’m offering, you know.”

There’s a glint in Sam’s eyes that make’s Dean’s breath hitch, and Cas looks up, dark and honest.

“You know my desires, Sam.”

“Yes I do.”

Sam snaps his fingers, and they’re in his bedroom. This is new.

“Let’s say as a reward I’ll give you Dean. For a while.” Sam smirks. “Will that make you happy?”

“Will you join us?”

Cas asks, bold and nonchalant, and Sam laughs. He turns to look at Dean who smirks his challenge.

“I’ll watch. For now.”

As forgiveness goes, it’s a beginning.


End file.
